


These Maps

by theplotholesmademedoit



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Jim doesn't like it when Spock nearly dies (again), M/M, old married spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplotholesmademedoit/pseuds/theplotholesmademedoit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone attempts to assassinate Ambassador Spock at a diplomatic conference. He wakes up sometime later in a hospital with a sharp pain in his side and a very worried bond-mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Maps

**Author's Note:**

> So this actually started out as an anon post I left on Suzy's blog (http://horam-najulachti.tumblr.com/) because I was bored and spamming her with Spock Prime angst and then someone else responded with a super depressing ficlet in which Prime wakes up in a hospital with amnesia. He asks for his bondmate, but AOS Jim comes in and he doesn't know who AOS Jim is and he's confused and why isn't his Jim here, Jim never leaves him alone if his injured and he doesn't know Jim's been dead for almost one hundred years and and *shutters off into hysterical sobs* it made me cry a lot. 
> 
> So I wrote the allotted anon space of this fic because couldn't handle the sad. Then I decided to actually turn it into something. It was going to have a plot and I was going to tackle the issue of Jim inevitably dying before Spock, maybe throw in a fight and make up sex, but it didn't happen. Instead, the result was essentially 1000 words of Kirk and Spock cuddling. 
> 
> There is a chance I should be worried by the frequency that everything I write turns into cuddling. 
> 
> Anywho, a thanks to my wonderful Beta kitbaker123!

 

Spock blinks awake to the pulse of fluorescent hospital lights.

There’s fluff sliding around the usual clarity of his head and a sharp pain lining his stomach. He tries to sit up, but a cool hand traces softly through his hair as another pushes him back into the pillows.

"Shhhh Love, your food was poisoned during the during the conference," Spock turns his head to see a smiling Jim leaning over him from a chair beside the bed, his grey hair and wide dimpled cheeks instantly comforting.There are dark purple sweeps around his bright crinkled eyes and his voice breaks very slightly on the word ‘poisoned’.

Spock is 98.6% sure that he is on painkillers that dim his mental capabilities considerably, but he still can tell his bondmate is not much better off than he.

He nods evenly, lifting the corner of pale green hospital sheets and gesturing to the thin mattress beneath, “Would you like to lie with me?”

Jim’s smile cracks and he very nearly dives to Spock’s side, burrowing into his chest and stretching an arm under the hospital gown and over his bandages. Jim’s thumb circles the bare skin there, swiping slower over a vein by his ribs where the rocking of his pulse is easily felt. Spock slides a hand through Jim’s hair, cupping the back of his skull and guiding the human tighter against him.

Spock is strongly reminded of all of those times, on the Enterprise, when they would cram into a biobed everytime one of them was confined to sickbay. If he wades through his muddled thoughts he can still hear Doctor McCoy complaining that he was “running a sickbay, not a goddamn nursery.” Though he never failed to make a fuss, one flash of Jim’s sad hazel eyes and the doctor wouldn't even try to separate them.

“How are you feeling?” Jim says softly after a moment, tipping up to brush his lips against Spock’s cheek.

“My mental facilities are sub-par, most likely due to pain killers and I feel overall weakened and fatigued. There is sharp pain in my abdominal region.”

Jim very gently strokes his palm over the area where he senses it hurts the most and reaches up to soothe invisible spirals into the sensitive skin just behind the greying fuzz that lines Spock’s temple. The pain flickers into a dull throb and muscles, that he was not aware were clenched, unstitched.

“You were in a healing trance, but they had to impair your telepathic abilities for surgery so that you couldn’t feel it. You’re going to be a bit fuzzy for a while.  I apologize for that, I know how you dislike not being in control of your mind. Don’t be worried if you can’t manipulate our bond, or string together those equations of yours; it’s temporary side effect, or so they tell me.”

Spock wiggles his other arm under Jim so that he has a firm grip on his back.

“It is disconcerting, but I find I do not care so long as I can touch you.” Jim’s answering smile stretches against Spock’s hospital shirt, “What of the one who poisoned me?”

The steady circles Jim is dragging softly across Spock’s bandages hitch slightly. It is barely a lapse in movement, but it is there and worrying, nonetheless.

“They’re still investigating, but they think it might have been a rogue Romulan who was none too happy about your attempts to unite their species with Vulcan. They won’t let me help find him or her, because I’m ‘too personally involved’,” he scoffs, “But I did research the list of politicians and crew members present, and ruled out more than half of them,” Jim inhales deeply into Spock’s collar bone and makes a noise that comes out a battered impersonation of a chuckle, “You’re going to be fine, but whomever they are, they did quite the number on your stomach lining.”

Spock nods again, dipping his chin down to kiss Jim’s head.

“That is most unfortunate.”

Jim laughs shakily and his fingers twitch on Spock’s ribs.

“That, is an understatement.”

They lie there in silence for a while, relaxing into each other.  Jim seems calmer, but there is still tension coiled in his spine and the lock of his muscles. Too much tension for an individual suffering from sleep deprivation who has finally gotten the chance to lay down.

“Jim, what are you not telling me?”

Jim stiffens, then pushes his face into Spock and sucks a harsh breath. It takes him a while to respond, confirming Spock’s suspicions.

“S’nothing,” is mummbled into the hospital gown.

“I find I do not believe you.”

Jim’s hands fist over the bandages and he sighs, a deep breathy sound that skitters from his lungs unevenly.

“After the poison ate through your stomach lining it got to your heart, because its proximity, stimulating heart attack like symptoms,” Jim is shaking so Spock slides his hand up and down his back, patiently encouraging him to continue, “You flat-lined Spock. Twice.”

A half formed memory of white gloves, creases slick with green blood, and the whine of a heart monitor flashes in his mind. That, and the brief impression of Jim’s unrestrained terror. He pulls his husband closer to him and bends to kiss his forehead.

“Hush, Ashayam,” Jim’s tremors slow slightly as Spock uses his strength, currently only comparable to a human’s, to press Jim closer to him, “As you can see I am out of danger now, you need not worry.”

Jim snorts, but in a manner that's less irritated and more relieved.

“Yeah, that’s going to happen.”

Spock looks down at Jim and they curve their heads together so they’re flushed brow to brow. Jim touches his mouth to Spock’s then peels back, just breathing.

“I am sorry you had to go through that. That amount of stress to the bond is not healthy, you are undoubtedly in pain. You should rest, Jim.”

Jim teases the tip of Spock’s ear and Spock lifts the black slash of his eyebrow.

“You’re confined to a hospital bed and you're still fussing over me, to the surprise of no one I suppose. I can handle a few headaches Spock, you just got a large portion of your intestines regenerated, _you_ should be the one resting.”

The cool fingers ease onto Spock’s temple, petting away the ache and coaxing him to sleep.

“Let me take care of you for once. Sleep, love.”

Spock’s eyelids start to sink, but he snaps them back open.

“I will if you agree to, as well.”

Spock’s stare may be clouded, at the moment, but he pins Jim with it most effectively. Jim shakes his head.

“Very well,  Mr Spock. I suppose protest is futile.”

“Indeed it is,” Spock presses his lips to Jim’s forehead one more time and latches their hands together over his stomach. Their fingers make stitches on the backs of their palms.

He lets the world drift away to the rhythm of his bondmate’s pulse against his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Such fluff, much sap, wow. (Sorry)
> 
> It's just a sweet little story, another on my mission to populate the fandom world with established Spirk fluff. If you've enjoyed my story and are a writer yourself, please consider joining this cause. I'm talking any verse of established Spirk, whether it be Au, AOS, TOS, mirror verse or something else entirely. I will devour your fics to the last crumble of comma and then rant to you ecstatically about how awesome they are. Maybe I'll throw in a free tribble, while I'm at it.
> 
> I know I haven't posted anything in awhile, sorry about that, I've been more in an art mood than a writing mood as of recently and I'm a junior in high school, so busy busy. "What Has Seeds" will be updated in the nearish future, I promise! Meanwhile, I've started writing an AU where the Enterprise is a strip club, and I'm 7000 words into a teenage fic that takes place in the "Sticky Fingers" universe (So another WHS plot alternate, and there's smut in it *winks*).
> 
> Thank you for reading! (Comments and Kudos are encouraged and promoted in monotone unison by 500 dead eyed children, as per the usual procedures)


End file.
